


Love, Hamburg (& Company)

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: Love, Hamburg (& Company)Rating: R (just to be safe)Word count: +/- 4KDisclaimer: I don't own the Beatles, and I would never dare claim this has happened for real. It is merely a work of fiction.A/N: Yeah okay, lame title, and a story that is even worse. Title and story have absolutely nothing in common, however, but yeah. I needed something to get my mind off National Novel Writing Month. Also: WARNING. SMUT. FEELGOOD. CRAP. FLUFF. (But read for yourself and leave a comment ^^)Excerpt: The nearest alley is theirs, though, and they both know it. John enters the shades first, and he can feel Paul's breath in his neck as he follows him closely, and then he pushes Paul up against the wall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted 28 NOVEMBER 2009.

  
Love, Hamburg (& Company)

“Come on,” John whispers in Paul's ear. The club they are standing in is over-crowded and the warmth coming off the dancing bodies makes it difficult to breathe. He starts tugging on Paul's arm, who quickly finishes his beer and then follows John outside.

The air hits them hard, leaving them breathless for a moment as their bodies adjust to the cold. Neither of them takes the time for this though, or even thinks about it, as they walk down the road, so close together that occasionally they bump against each other -arms, legs, nearly tangling up once, so they can barely keep themselves from falling on the streets. Their alcohol-addled brains and limbs don't do much to keep them sane, nor do the events of the night before.

Neither can quite remember what exactly has happened, they had been far too drunk, and the night is filled with black holes when they are trying to recall said memories. All that is present now, is a lingering tension between their bodies, tense and impossible – the both of them know – but as impossible as it is to not act on it, it is equally impossible to stop thinking about it, filling in the gaps.

The nearest alley is theirs, though, and they both know it. John enters the shades first, and he can feel Paul's breath in his neck as he follows him closely, and then he pushes Paul up against the wall. He hears how Paul makes a sound in the back of his throat, although he can hardly describe whether it is because he is scared or frustrated, or possibly a combination of both. And John himself? – he is fucking _terrified_ of what is happening to them.

“Okay?” he whispers, and in the dim, dim light and with his eyes that are getting used to the sudden darkness, he can see how Paul nods. It is enough to convince him this really is the best for now, that they can go on with this. Even if it has always been inevitable, and they both have known for quite some time now.

Then their lips are pressed together, and nothing around them matters anymore – no noises and no possible people walking by the entrance of the alley. John feels victorious, and in Paul's quickening breath he knows his mate does too. He can feel how Paul's hands are gripping at him frantically, and then he is pushed back, stumbling lightly. His eyes need adjusting again, this time at the distance of Paul's face. Then a pair of hands grab the front of his shirt, and turn him around. John's head bumps against the hard brick wall with a sickening thud, but he can't bring himself to care. It will hurt far more tomorrow but for now there are more important matters.

John loses himself in the way Paul's body moves against him, the thigh that has slipped between his legs and provides him of friction he wants but still, even now, can not quite get. There are hands in his hair, and his own fingers are quickly drawing patterns in Paul's neck, his cheeks, the stubble in his neck and to the front, his collarbone and then he rubs with one hand at Paul's back, sneaking his hand under the shirt to steal a touch of the warm flesh there. His other is lingering on Paul's hip, on his jeans, trying to tug him closer. They are trying to be quiet, but the only sounds other than his blood throbbing in his ears are the quiet moans both of them produce, no matter how hard they try not to.

When they break apart, after what feels like an eternity of solely kissing but nowhere near long enough, and only with the intent of taking a breath so they can keep going for another small endless period of time, John can see the silhouette of someone standing where the alley ends and the main street begins. At first he thinks it is only someone who has gotten lost, and expects them to walk on after a second or two. But when after the seconds the person doesn't move, and John narrows his eyes so he might get a clearer look of him – which is more difficult than usual, with Paul's warm body still pressed against him, hot and obviously aroused now, just like him – he realises he recognises the haircut, the posture and the leather jacket.

Paul hasn't seen Stuart yet, his face is buried in John's neck, pressing light kisses there, but pressed against each other as they are, he must feel the jolt of anxiety that passes through John's body the moment he realises they have been caught. By Stuart, of all people.

John has no idea when, or how, but he pushes Paul away and stands up straight and walks toward Stuart, who looks at them in shock. He ignores Paul's pained moan as he falls onto the floor, his knees weakened by their previous actions and his mind – undoubtedly like John's - incredibly more slow than possible from just alcohol. Then he walks straight past Stuart, ignoring him too, but when he walks further down the street, towards their Kino, he can feel Stuart's disapproving glare hot in his neck. He feels deeply ashamed.

~

“I swear,” Stuart whispers in the dark, “they were making out.” He turns to his side, laying in bed with Astrid. “Can you imagine?” he asks his girlfriend, “John and Paul, kissing?” Under his arm, he can feel how Astrid makes a light movement, although he can't say what it is just from feeling. Then a noise erupts from the other side of the bed. “You are laughing!” he says angrily, still vicious over what he has seen. “I cannot believe you think this is amusing.”

“It was sort of obvious all along, though?” Astrid asks quietly once she can breathe evenly again.

Stuart sits up straight in bed. “What?” he asks her, “obvious? I wouldn't call catching the two of them kissing _obvious_ , exactly.”

He can feel how Astrid shrugs, still laying in bed next to him. Her body is warm, and he would most rather curl against it, rather than fight over these... antics of two of his friends. It happened once before, when John had appeared on the stage with a toilet seat around his neck, and wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. Stuart had been angry at him afterwards, but at least Paul, Pete and George had agreed with him. Now something has happened he cannot possibly talk about with them, and Stuart is even starting to regret telling Astrid – who is still laughing quietly.

Astrid flips on the light next to her side of the bed, and she comments – undoubtedly because of the scowl Stuart knows he is showing. “Come on, Liebe,” she tells him, “it is what they want to do.”

“And you aren't upset by this, or whatsoever?” Stuart asks her. Astrid shakes her head, to his surprise.

“Stuart, listen,” she smiles faintly, “as I said, this is what they want to do. And you haven't seen the way they look at each other on stage, when they are singing, have you?” Stuart shakes his head, because he has to admit that no – he hasn't. When he is on stage with them, he has to concentrate on his bass playing, and so does not really notice anything else what is going on around him. “It is true, though,” she sighs quietly, “to me it was obvious, and as for Klaus and Jürgen... let's say I have heard them make remarks.”

Stuart shakes his head again, and mutters “impossible,” even though he knows it is very well possible. That it is, in fact, not only possible, but the reality.

“Now,” Astrid says as she sits up next to him, a hand on his arm, and then kisses his cheek. “Let's go to sleep.”

Stuart sighs when he gives in to her light but insistent tugging on his arm, and when Astrid turns off the light again, he lets her snuggle closer. He cannot, though, help wondering what John and Paul must be doing right now. He wonders whether they are laying in their cold bunks, cuddled up in the same way as Astrid and him, and whether they like it as much. Stuart has to admit he can't imagine a man wanting to hug another man, as the curves and the softness of the girl next to him are some of the things he loves most about her.

~

Astrid doesn't really care about how John and Paul like kissing each other. She has never seen it, like Stuart, but she can't say she minds.

Actually, perhaps she does care about the fact that they kiss. They are both beautiful young boys, and unlike what Stuart possibly thinks, she does not believe anything is wrong with falling for somebody of the same sex. Even the old Greek and Romans did it, after all, and that was centuries ago. Astrid can't believe that this means it suddenly has to be forbidden now, in this period of drugs and rock and roll, and the prostitutes that live and work in the same streets as the boys of the band.

Maybe she even thinks about what it looks like when they make out, the next time she and Stuart see John, Paul and the others.

“Is something wrong, Astrid?” John asks her, broadly laughing, when they are sitting in the diner. Astrid quickly smiles politely, and shakes her head.

“No, of course not,” she tells him, “I am just a bit tired.”

“Ah, did Stuart keep you up all night again?” John asks her. She can see Paul looking at her interestedly too, and she knows he wanted to ask the same question. He never would have though, as it was a matter of asking her about private business. George and Stuart are engrossed in a conversation, sitting next to them, while Pete is talking to a waitress with a short – and in Astrid her opinion obscenely so – skirt. She sees how Peter's eyes keep lowering themselves, over the waitress her chest, and then to her legs. Although she has the urge to tell Pete off, she doesn't because it is the waitress' own fault, after all.

“Nothing of the sort,” she tells John. “I think I was not tired enough to sleep.”

In fact, she had been laying awake all night, images of both John and Paul playing in her mind. She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the illicit thoughts.

“I don't believe you,” John teases her, and Paul laughs along, saying, “nor do I!”

Astrid starts laughing as well, and then says, “what about you then? You both look rather tired.” It is a mistake for sure, the way the images grow more vivid than ever and she has trouble concentrating on what both John and Paul are telling her then.

“Oh, we slept all night,” John nods, and she can see how he is starting to look slightly flustered, and how his eyes keep flitting over to his side, where Paul is sitting. Paul, for his part, suddenly starts looking rather fidgety, and can't seem to keep his hands away from his cup, even though it has been empty for at least five minutes now.

“I was thinking though,” Paul suddenly starts, and then looks over at George and Stuart, waiting for their attention. Waiting for Pete has no use, he is now standing over at the counter, and is still talking to the same waitress of before. “Perhaps you could do another photo shoot?” he asks Astrid.

“Of course,” Astrid smiles. “Why, though? I thought you all liked the other pictures I have made?”

John laughs. “That is the case though, we want more pictures on which we look great.” Astrid raises her eyebrows, and the young man opposite of the table smiles at her. “Paulie here, he is afraid that once we are famous horrible pictures of what he looked like during childhood will surface. And they are horrible, I have seen them! He strongly believes that he can keep it off by spreading pictures wherein he looks like a dapper young rock 'n roll star.”

Now it is the others' turn to laugh. “Could Paul ever look like something other than the baby face of the group, then?” George says in his thick Liverpudlian accent – and Astrid still sometimes had trouble understanding what he means. They all laugh again, mostly at George's joke as he is the youngest, but _does_ have a point. Stuart has once told her that John thought Paul looked like a mini-Elvis, but that it would have been better if Paul had been called a baby-Elvis. Astrid had shook her head at him, for Paul is every inch the rock star these days. It just does not always show, especially not when he is tired. The same can be said for the others though, Astrid thinks, and sometimes with pain in her heart. They want to become famous so badly, John, Paul and George especially, and they live in insecurity, not knowing whether spending months of their time here will be of any use later on, or whether it will turn out to have been for nothing.

Paul scowls at George then, and asks Astrid, “will you do it though? Another photo shoot?” Even though she hears Stu's weary sigh next to her – she knows he is tired of Paul's vanity, perfectionism and, at the same time, uncertainty, he tells her about it after each gig – she finds herself nodding.

“Of course I will. Do you think you can make it next Wednesday? I don't have to go to the Meisterschule then, so I will have time to make pictures of you.”

Paul nods happily, and John shakes his head, laughs, and then smacks his hand against the back of Paul his head, who scowls at John. In the mean time, George and Stuart return to their conversation of before, and Pete is still talking to the waitress. If Astrid is not mistaking, the girl behind the counter and the subject of Peter's not-so-subtle affections, is becoming rather annoyed.

This time, Astrid finds she does sympathise with her.

~

The following Wednesday, Astrid is already waiting for the boys. Even Stuart has not arrived yet, as he – as well as Astrid – knows that the others are hardly ever on time, and he prefers working on a new art work over the band. Astrid has known this for a while now, and she is pretty certain the rest knows too, just by instinct as Stu has not yet mentioned it. She isn't even sure Stuart will appear at all, but John and Paul surely have to show up – and with them George as well. The three of them seemed to have been growing closer the past months, whereas Pete prefers running after one of the many ladies, rather than focus on music.

Then the door bell rings.

“Hi,” Paul says when she opens the door. She greets him with a hug, and John is standing behind Paul, looking sheepishly as well.

“Will I get a hug from you too?” he asks her then, cheekily, because it's John. Astrid laughs.

“You know Stuart won't like it,” she tells him, but John only shrugs, and steps towards her with open arms.

“Stuart dislikes so many things, these days,” he whispers in her ear when they are embracing, and Astrid laughs again. She has always thought John to be charming, from the beginning on, with his broad smiles and wicked comments, and when he tried to seduce her, she nearly fell for him. If it weren't for Stuart, she probably would have. But now she has lost her heart to Stuart, and it seems like John has given his' to -someone else, and everything is okay like this as well.

“Ah, John,” Paul says, “you have always known Stuart would give up the band as soon as he got the opportunity. And now he has got Astrid, and of course his art again, so you can't possibly tell me that this is unexpected.”

John scowls at Paul, and Astrid can see how he wants to make a snide comment, but he manages to keep it in. Instead he walks in through the door.

“George and Pete will be here later,” he tells her, his head held up high, even though Astrid can still see the disdain in his eyes. Paul is right though, and John must know it. They have been friends for such a long time now, and although she knows her boyfriend has learnt how to play the bass with pain in both fingers and mind, she knows it is not where his true passion lies. He is the outcast within the band, the one that does not belong on that stage, and everybody can see it.

“Do you want to have some pictures taken of the two of you first?” Astrid asks them, and an idea is starting to form itself in her mind. It is not like she wants it to, but now it is happening, she lets it happen too, as it is not necessarily a bad idea. Not at all, in fact. “Stuart won't be here until later, he is first finishing one of his paintings.”

She ignores the way Paul rolls his eyes, while John shrugs and tells her, “oh we can wait. There is plenty of time.”

“I have already set up my camera,” she tells them, “but you haven't answered?”

“Oh, right,” Paul says, “I suppose we could.” He looks over at John, who casually shrugs, again.

“We can, yeah,” John now nods, and asks, “where is the camera?” Now it is time for Astrid to roll her eyes, and points at her expensive equipment which is standing right behind John.

“Tired again?” Astrid asks them, and the both of them quickly shake their heads.

“Where do we need to stand?” Paul asks her, and Astrid positions them, standing next to each other, their arms nearly touching. Astrid sees clearly how uncomfortable they are, standing this close, but something in her perversely lets them stay like this. Usually she would try to make the subjects she is photographing comfortable as possible – it shows in the pictures – but she cannot allow herself to now.

“Can you stand a little bit closer?” she finds herself asking, and tries to cover her own shock as she watches both John and Paul fidget. It gives her a sense of power, this knowledge that exists between the tree of them, although both John and Paul don't know Stuart has told her about them. She is not even sure whether they know Stu had been standing there.

“Do we have to?” Paul asks, and Astrid nods, even if it's against her own policy. She sees how they grow more and more uncomfortable, and she sighs.

“Why, actually?” John says, and the question for some reason overwhelms Astrid. She doesn't know what to say to John or Paul, and Stuart manages to come into the house at exactly that moment.

“You know,” John hoarsely says, when Stuart hasn't entered the room yet. “You fucking _know_ ” he repeats, while Paul has gone pale as a sheet. Astrid can feel her body grow cold, and she hates the feeling, as she had not – never- meant to betray them like this. She can see how the both of them are trembling, and there is nothing she can do but anxiously await Stu entering the room.

When he does, hell seems to burst loose.

“Are you out of your mind?” John shouts, his face red from anger. “You have told her!”

Stuart looks taken aback, confused for just a moment, and then stands up straighter. “And you thought I would not?” he asks John, then increases the volume of his voice, “you actually believed I would be able to keep this a secret? My best friend is a _queer_ , is with another band mate, and you are asking me to accept it and tell nobody?”

“People will _hate_ us,” Paul says, still pale, and sitting down on the couch. His voice is unsteady, and he lays his head in his hands.

“Oh no,” Astrid shakes her head, “they won't!”

“I don't care whether they will,” Stuart says angrily, and at the same time. “I find it disgusting.” Then he walks away, slamming the door.

John stares at the door, his eyes wide opened and his face a blotched red, while Paul is still sitting on the couch, keeping quiet. Astrid notices how John's breathing is quick, and she knows that he would most rather run after Stuart. He doesn't.

“I'm sorry,” Astrid says quietly. Paul shakes his head. John turns his head. She coughs, and continues. “I didn't mean to provoke this, and Stuart has told only me. He was quite upset about it.”

“It was the first time,” Paul says quietly from his place on the couch. John snorts.

“It wasn't. But we were drunk and we are young, so why would you care?”

Astrid laughs, although it is more because of her nerves than because of the humour of the situation – which it certainly lacks. “I don't care,” she tells them. “I just,” she swallows, and wonders whether she should say this.

“What?” John asks her, and finally the anger seems to fade from his voice. Astrid is glad about this -she has seen John angry twice, and it was more than enough.

“I thought it was obvious,” Astrid says, and much to her surprise she can feel how she starts blushing.

Paul looks up now, and the colour has returned to his face. John has calmed down a bit, and sits down next to Paul – as close together as Astrid requested before, but nowhere as nervous or uncomfortable.

“Obvious?” Paul asks.

Astrid sighs, and sits down on the floor opposite of them, staring at their shoes. Cowboy boots. “I suppose,” she says, “I just have always thought there was something more going on between you.”

“Girl,” John starts laughing, “that's impossible.” Paul looks at him, and starts laughing too, albeit quieter. “We didn't even know!”

She laughs as well, but shakes her head nonetheless. “I don't know though, John,” she says, “I can't say I was surprised.”

“Stuart was,” John tells her.

“And Stuart is no girl,” Astrid smiles at him sweetly, and feels how she should really make her next comment. “Just wait, wait until you are famous, and all your fan girls will see the chemistry between the two of you, and like it. Perhaps they will even try to capture it.”

“Like you tried?” John grimaces, and Astrid starts laughing, then shrugs.

“I don't know,” she says. “We'll have to see, won't we?”

“Wait for what?” Paul asks awkwardly, “until they will write stories about us? Songs? Gather pictures with so-called evidence?”

Astrid smiles again, and stands up because the door bell rings. “I think George and Pete are here,” she changes the subject. “I will let them in and then talk to Stuart.”

After she gets back, Stuart has calmed down with a few simple words ('Stuart, don't listen to them. I love you and that is all that should matter to you'). John and Paul act as if nothing has happened, and Astrid doesn't think George and Pete notice something has happened.

~

“I suppose it doesn't really,” Paul says hastily between two kisses, and then has to wait until John gives him another break to finish his sentence, “really matter,” he sighs, resting his head against John's shoulder. John, who laughs, like he did when they just got back from Astrid hers.

“Astrid doesn't care,” John smiles into Paul's hair, “and Stuart is not here so he can't possibly be offended,” he sighs when Paul shifts against his body, a sigh which quickly turns into a groan when Paul manages some friction right where he needs it. “And George and Pete don't know,” he continues when they have settled again.

“And the fans...” Paul begins, with a worried face, but John cuts him off with a kiss and a smile.

“They will either not know or not mind. People only see what they want to see, remember?” Paul laughs quietly at this, and John presses another kiss against his mouth.

Of course, one kiss turns into more, and more kisses cause them to lose their clothes, and eventually they are tired and fall asleep in each other's arms.

~End.  


 


End file.
